Sleepless Night
by GrimLocke
Summary: America can't sleep. He's stuck awake and get's some advice from a unexpected source... ONE SHOT


Note: _Italics_ represent what America's thinking.

Enjoy and a big thanks to my all my fans and people who helped me with this project.

Twenty-one year-old America couldn't sleep. He couldn't sleep one wink. Japan had let him borrow a horror videogame. Let's just say he didn't handle it well. It was unfortunate that America couldn't sleep, especially because they had the world conference tomorrow, and all the nations representative we're staying in Japan's hotel. He now lay sprawled out across the couch, coat thrown haphazardly over the armrest and his left leg off the couch. His hand was lying against his forehead. Well this stinks. Why would Japan even lend me that game? I mean does he want me to never sleep again? Actually It wouldn't surprise me if he does. He sighed his eyes drifting closed trying to grasp the sleep that was so close yet so far. His eyes snapped open as he heard creaking of the floor. He bolted upright. It was probably nothing. Right? Yeah it was nothing… He slowly laid back down on the couch. He vaguely considered going to England's. He remembered when he was a young child and would have nightmares and immediately run to England. He remembered one time in particular when he was very little. He stood outside England's room debating on knocking or not. He was crying and gripping his pillow tightly. England's door suddenly opened to reveal a tired looking England. His shirt had a couple buttons done the wrong way and his hair was a mess. His glasses were slightly lopsided, from being put on quickly. He glanced down to see a crying America and just smiled back. He crouched down to America's height and gently rubbed his head. America's sobbing quieted down to sniffling. "Hey America, come on let's go to sleep,"he said. But that was a long time ago. I'm not his child anymore. I'm independent now. I don't need him! Do I? That doesn't matter anyway he'd probably just refuse and yell at me for asking something so stupid.

He drifted back to reality after thinking this. Then he heard what sounded vaguely like a scream. That does it! He picked up his rifle and pulled on his jacket. He crept slowly towards the room the noise echoed from. The plaque next to the room said "Kitchen". After some deliberation he flung the door open. He immediately started firing off rounds blindly. After unloading his gun he slowly opened his eyes that he had unknowingly shut tightly. There sat like a deer in headlights was Italy eating a plate of pasta. He had stopped then promptly began eating again.

"For heavens sakes Italy! You nearly gave me a heart attack!" America said in an exasperated tone. America sighed and wiped his forehead, even though there was no sweat for him to wipe away. He carefully leaned his rifle against the wall and walked up and sat next to Italy.

"Pasta?" Italy offered indicating to a plate next to his own.

Why not? America took the plate and casually removed the bullets that littered his plate. He took the fork that had been left out on the counter. He inspected it. "It looks clean enough. "He thought. He took the fork and stuck it into the pasta slightly aggressively. Italy noticed this.

"Don't be mean to pasta-chan America!" Italy whined.

America just gave him a fake smile and continued eating his pasta.

"You're his child you know. No matter what you've done he will always be there."

America stiffened and looked confused. He looked over at Italy who had lost the goofy look in his eyes that he usually wore but had the look of when he was painting something magnificent. Concentrated, thoughtful but with a glint of enjoyment as well. His voice had lost it's usual high-pitched tone and adopted a slightly more analytical tone like he was criticizing a work of art. He looked like a kind and gentle king but still regal.

"You're scared. I can see it in your face. And it's not just because of the scary video game that Japan gave you." Italy said in a calmed manner How did he- "Japan told me." Italy said cutting him off.

"No you're not scared because of that. You're scared of the England and the relationship that you two have now. You always fight and never agree on anything. You're still a young country fighting for recognition. You no longer have that pillar of support you once had. You're afraid of that. But you're also afraid of admitting that you need help. Especially when you and England are fighting constantly when you just want him to help sometimes." Italy said with his gentle voice.

America sat stunned, How does he know all this? But Italy wasn't finished.

"But you forget that England is still your parent. And like all parents they know that they're children must grow up at some point. And like all parents they will always be there for their children." Italy finished this statement and immediately went back to the more, carefree version of himself.

"More pasta?" He asked cheerfully.

"No thanks," America croaked. He picked his jacket up off the back of the chair . He slowly got up, thanked Italy for the food, picked up his rifle and walked back to the main room. He unknowingly dropped his coat in the hallway as he was walking, deep in thought.

He resumed his weird position on the couch with his rifle lying up against the edge of the couch. He then slowly felt a tear slide down his cheek. Then another. And another. He silently started to cry. He was crying because Italy was right. He was completely right. He did need that pillar of support, he knew he was scared about what would happen to him and England. He quickly dried his eyes. And rested both his arms over his eyes.

He was almost over the fright of the horror game. That was until he heard shuffling. He quickly picked up his rifle and placed it right on the chest of his visitor. America was made of steel. He was young and needed some support but he was anything but weak. His eyes hardened to rock scanned the person in front of him. He had blonde hair with a white dress shirt and glasses. He sighed and put his gun down when he saw who it was.

"England."

"America."

America sighed and flopped back down on the couch. America eyes were still slightly rimmed with red from crying and twenty nine year old England noticed but decided to not comment on it. England, who was carrying Americas jacket, casually tossed the garment to him. America caught it with one hand and grumbled a "thank you." England smiled.

"So what are you doing up?" England asked

"I had the same question." America said.

"I just heard some footsteps outside my door. But you avoided by question. What are you doing up? You know we have a meeting tomorrow."

"... I couldn't sleep" He mumbled after a bit.

"Why?" England asked with a concerned tone.

"Japan lent me a horror game. Let's just say it wasn't fun." He grumbled sheepishly.

"... Is that all that's bothering you?"

"Yes."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes I'm sure." America grumbled.

"America..." he said his voice slightly pained.

And America couldn't stand it any longer. He broke down and told England everything. He started to cry again and England took him into his arms and rubbed his head.

"I'm not going anywhere America." He leaned out and looked America in the eyes.

"Hey America, come on let's go to sleep." England then grabbed him by the shoulders and guided him into his room.

 **Fin.**


End file.
